Never Knowing
by Erzsebeth Bathory
Summary: Karen begins to consider how she might actually feel toward Sean.


**Author's note:** This story takes place right before the mission "A Short Walk in a Pretty Town."

* * *

"You didn't just **_YAWN_** on me, did you?!"

Karen snorted in an unlady-like fashion at Sean's accusation as she finished lacing up her loose blouse. She decided the next time she went on a mission with one of the boys, she would hit up a clothing store and fetch herself some new clothing.

"Quit complaining," Karen replied as she raked her fingers through her messy blonde curls. Miss Grimshaw would no doubt chew her out for her unkempt appearance. Old hag. At least _she_ was getting some action, unlike her who only got any pleasure from snapping orders at everyone.

Sean sat upon the bed roll where he laced up his boots. "I gave you my best performance yet!"

"Shakespeare applauds you from the grave," Karen sarcastically countered as she smoothed the front of her favorite purple skirt.

Sean jumped to his feet and grabbed her by her upper arms. He yanked her against him and pecked her full on the lips. Eyes closed, he gave her a few more quick kisses. She slapped him on his chest with both hands, but the more he kissed her, the less she wanted to strike him. Unlike the times before, his kisses this time around were rather sweet and dare she say… affectionate?

"Stop," she groaned as she balled up a fist, ready to strike him good, even though the rest of her was this close to crawling back into bed with him.

He wrapped his hand over that fist and chuckled. His lips hovered just above hers.

"Say it."

"Say _what,_ Sean?"

"You know exactly what I wanna hear."

"In your dreams."

He laughed at her boldness. "That's what I love about you. You don't give in that easily. You put up a fight. That's how I like my women—full of spit and vinegar."

She yanked her fist from his grip, but she didn't pull away entirely. Instead, she flipped her hair over her shoulders, narrowed her eyes at him, and asked, "How many other girls would put up with you anyway? Like I told you earlier, fate is such a bastard. I try to get away from you and yet you keep coming back."

"And yet here we are, in the afterglow of some fine love makin'!" He reached over and cupped the side of her face. "Fate's way of telling us that we're meant to be. You can't deny it, Miss Karen!"

"I should've gutted you before you dragged me into this tent."

"You weren't throwing much of a fight once we got down to business."

_SLAP!_

A hand shaped red welt burned bright on Sean's pale face. Karen stepped back, turned away, and blew on the palm of her hand. The connection to his skin stung this time around. She was positive she hit him much harder than that in the past, so why was she in pain now? What was different? Was it what he said earlier that touched a nerve? About fate? For as long as she and Sean were in Dutch's gang, she couldn't deny the attraction she had for the cocky Irish bastard. As unabashedly outspoken as she was, she couldn't admit to anyone, let alone herself, that she might actually feel something for him other than aggravation on the outside, and neediness when they were alone and drunk.

"Before this year comes to an end!" Sean declared as he rubbed his sore cheek with one hand and his eyes gleamed. "Miss Karen, before the 20th century dawns on us thieves and plunderers, you're going to tell everyone that you are truly and madly in love with me."

Karen gave him a defiant glare while tending to her still throbbing hand. She wanted to spit another insult at him, but for once, the words failed to come out.

Alright, she thought, he really _could_ be charming when he wanted to be, even without the liquor. It took her a while to be convinced that he _DID_ notice her, the real her, beneath the sassy melodramatics. For all the men whose hands she allowed upon her body, nobody was more persistent than one Sean MacGuire. No matter how many times she threatened him, hit him, and swore at him, he always came back to her.

"Alright, then," Sean cheerily announced as he put on his hat and pushed the tent flap open. "I'm off for another bout with the Grays! Heading into Rhodes with Bill and Micah. Arthur's gonna join us—supposed to, anyway, once he's just about healed up. Speaking of healed up, let's see that hand, huh?"

Without even thinking, she showed him her outstretched palm. He bent down and placed a tender kiss upon it before flashing her a mischievous grin.

"Even I got me moments of being a Prince Charming," he said. With a quick wag of his brows, he stepped out of the tent entirely and was off to find the others.

Karen could only stand there and stare at her hand. Jesus, what was wrong with her? Why was she so damn sentimental now? This was turning into one of Mary-Beth's silly stories she enjoyed reading.

Sean, a prince? Her own prince? Ha! Like she told him, in his dreams.


End file.
